


Facing the Cold

by Mercale



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Gen, Humanstuck, Orphans, Past Abuse, Sweaters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-03
Updated: 2012-10-03
Packaged: 2017-11-15 14:16:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/528189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mercale/pseuds/Mercale
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's getting towards that cold time of year, and Gamzee needs a new sweater. Karkat, unfortunately, has to put up with hours of shopping to find it. Hopefully he gets through it without going insane. </p><p>And something from Gamzee's dreams sets them both on edge.</p><p>Request for an anonymous Tumblr user.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Facing the Cold

**Author's Note:**

> An anonymous Tumblr user really wanted me to write something with Gamzee and sweaters. They also implied Karkat would be nice to include, and shopping. And so this happened.

There was no way in the fucking world that Karkat was ever going out clothing shopping with Gamzee ever again. The last three hours had been cruel and unusual punishment, and Karkat was pretty sure there was something unconstitutional about that. There were literally laws that said that sending a prisoner clothing shopping with Gamzee would actually constitute an unreasonable punishment, possibly bordering on torture. If this kept up any longer, Karkat was actually going to ask someone to call the authorities to save him from the punishment he was pretty sure he hadn’t done anything to deserve. Well, he hadn’t done anything to deserve it today, but that was beyond the point.

“How about this motherfucking one?” Gamzee asked, taking the hanger off the long rack to show it off to Karkat.

“First of all,” Karkat growled, his voice purposefully low to keep himself from shouting his head off at the grinning buffoon, “it’s about four sizes too small for your lanky fucking body. Second, haven’t I told you not to fucking curse here? There are children…”

“Aw, but they’re over with the stuffed animals. Ain’t up and got any way of hearing us. And man, bro, you’re cursing too,” Gamzee pointed out, though mainly he seemed to be putting his energy into pouting. Whether it was over being told off or Karkat’s rejection of the upheld sweater was the mystery of the fucking day, but Karkat didn’t much care.

“Whatever. It’s a no on the sweater. It wouldn’t even reach your bellybutton, you idiot. How is the thing supposed to keep you warm if it doesn’t fit properly?”

“But Kar, it’s all sorts of cute. I mean, just look at it.”

Looking at it was half the problem. This, the most recent of Gamzee’s abominable taste—it wouldn’t have taken Kanaya long to flip her shit over Gamzee’s selections on this trip—was one of the better sweaters he’d offered for Karkat’s approval. It lacked the atrocious bells the last two had featured, and the glittery, fuzzy rainbow colored balls that had been sewn on the three before that. That didn’t stop it from having about ten different ridiculously big-headed kittens from being sewn onto the putrid, pea green knitted wool. Karkat was half tempted to tear the thing from Gamzee’s hands and throttle him with it. Every single choice before now, through three different thrift stores, had been just as stupid, just as poorly fitted, and just as fatal on the eyes. What was Gamzee even thinking? Was he even thinking?

“It won’t even begin to fit unless you’ve got some magical time machine that will sweep you back about five years to before your retarded growth spurt. Beyond that, it’s hideous, just like the last twenty. Can you just get your act together and pick something reasonable? I’ve only got about two hours left until I’ve got to get to work, and at this rate you’ll be searching the rest of the month.”

“Just want the right thing,” Gamzee mumbled in some kind of apology, replacing the hanger on the rack. “Ain’t like I’m gonna get another motherfucking chance.”

Hell, nothing like one of Gamzee’s epiphanies to ruin an already miserable day. Not that Karkat couldn’t understand it. They didn’t have the disposable income to do this more than once. At least, not for a while. It was already taking a bit out of their meager savings just to get the bus passes for the day to get around the city to hit up the thrift stores. Even more would go for the purchase of the final sweater, no matter how much it cost. Karkat had already resolved to buy the first reasonable choice Gamzee made that was in good quality and actually fit him. Not just because he would be thankful to be done with this fucking trip, but because…

Because Gamzee deserved it. Not that Gamzee would agree with Karkat’s conclusion, but sometimes it was like the older teen forgot just how much Karkat owed him. Sometimes Gamzee just chose to forget the fact that he’d all but rescued Karkat from the foster home they’d been raised in together. The place had been abusive to say the very least, and Gamzee had gotten free of it two years before Karkat had. When Gamzee had gotten his majority, he’d disappeared, leaving Karkat behind with only the promise to come back for him. Two years Karkat had waited, refusing to break under his foster-father’s will, praying that just this once Gamzee wouldn’t let him down. That his brother, his best friend, would save him. And sure enough, on his 18th birthday Gamzee had shown up at the door in the middle of the night. Looking all kinds of messed up—his clothes worn and torn, his face marred by a black eye, and lines under his eyes—Gamzee had told him to pack everything. They were leaving.

The apartment that Gamzee had taken him to was shit. The walls dirty, the bed nothing more than a few blankets on the floor, the microwave the only functioning appliance in the kitchen. It hadn’t mattered. Gamzee was there, their foster parents weren’t, and so it was home. In the two years since they’d both worked their asses off to get something better. It had only been recently they’d managed to secure jobs good enough to move into a new apartment. One with a tub that didn’t take three hours to drain. With a working fridge. With an actual queen sized mattress on the floor. It cost a lot, though. Between the new apartment, some new clothes for Karkat’s job as a waiter, and the food they needed to get by, they had little left over. But winter was coming, and Gamzee had gotten the sleeve of his last sweater torn off when some asshole had chosen to jump him for all five dollars in cash Gamzee had on him at the time. So here Karkat was, spending the last of his loose cash, to make sure his best-friend could get through the winter.

“This one?” Gamzee asked, holding up a fuzzy looking pink thing that seemed to be about three sizes too big, and far too thin to be useful for the worst parts of the winter.

“No.”

“Maybe we shouldn’t…” Gamzee started to say, for probably the fiftieth time that day, trying yet again to get Karkat to spare his money. Like fuck that was going to happen.

“Don’t even start again. Let’s just get this over with.”

Another ten minutes Karkat stood there, rejecting sweater after sweater until at last Gamzee froze in place, his hand wrapped around the sleeve of something. Karkat leaned forward, trying to figure out just what had frozen Gamzee in place. As he looked, the answer became obvious. It was the color of the sweater, a rich shade purple that always seemed to give Gamzee pause. But it was more than that. On the center of the chest of the thing, in a lighter shade of purple, was an odd design, part face, part harp, that Gamzee always drew after his nightmares. It was the fact that just reaching out and touching it, Karkat knew it was the right thickness. The fact that it already looked like it was the right size. It was almost as if the sweater had been made for Gamzee, left here waiting until the moment that they would be here, ready to take it.

“Karkat…” Gamzee whispered, letting the sleeve of the sweater go so he could pull his knit winter hat down a bit further, as if it could cover his eyes and hide him from what was in front of them.

“I see it,” Karkat promised, frowning. “You want it?”

“No,” Gamzee hissed. “Never want to see the motherfucking thing again in my life.”

“Then here,” Karkat said, reaching for the sweater next too it. It was big, maybe a bit too big for Gamzee. It looked warm and fluffy. It seemed in nice enough condition. And it had the greatest qualification in the fact that it wasn’t the other sweater.

“Yeah. Whatever. Let’s just get the motherfuck out of here.”

Karkat took the black sweater into his arms, taking just the shortest moment to ponder a sideways 69 sewn in gray in the bottom corner of the sweater, and then grabbed Gamzee’s arm to guide him away from the racks. Better not to think about what they’d just seen. Better to pretend it wasn’t real. That the nightmares that plagued them at night were just that: dreams. Because anything else was too terrible to contemplate.


End file.
